


A Seal Upon

by Anonymous



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: OT4, Other, offworld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-16
Updated: 2008-09-16
Packaged: 2017-10-01 23:21:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set me as a seal upon thy heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is as strong as death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Seal Upon

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Bring Back the Porn](http://community.insanejournal.com/bbtp_challenge) challenge. Here for archival purposes, and will be rewritten one of these days. In my copious spare time.

> _Set me as a seal upon thy heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is as strong as death.  
>  —Song of Solomon 8:6_

After so many years of doing without, it's frightening how easy it is to become used to _having_: having a comfortable bed made of more than cast-off blankets, having a space of his own to hide or relax. No matter how much he loves the idea of visiting a world to help, not to hide from the Wraith, Ronon misses his home. He's still amazed sometimes that he once had a place to call home.

He doesn't know the name of the world where they currently travel, that's John's concern. Ronon only reads the parts of the brief that discuss how long it has been since the Wraith have been here and who are this tribe's enemies. If they even have that much information.

They've had a ten-hour day already and they're tired. It's been too hot outside, and John has been making jokes about making fried eggs on the hood of his car. As usual, Ronon just smiles, because even if he doesn't understand the context, he gets that it's a joke. At the end of the day, the shaman from Fathe points to a copse of trees a kilometer away, telling them the small pond is worth the walk if they would like some privacy to bathe. Rodney answers yes (of course), and begins to trot away, turning his head to inform whoever might be last in line that his pack has shampoo and soap and he'll share it with whoever goes to their hut to carry it for him.

Teyla stops walking, looking astonished at Rodney's request and Ronon pauses next to her. "Go on, I'll bring the packs," he says, knowing she can hear what he's not  
saying — Rodney is a combination of a child and the last wall between a world of destruction and one with some small vestige of hope, and Ronon knows to preserve that, he will suffer many small, and some large, indignities.

"I brought my personal supply as well," she tells him firmly, "I can carry it. There is no need for you to do so."

Ronon shakes his head. "I'd rather pick up your pack and John's. That way I can borrow John's soap and pretend that I thought I was bringing Rodney's." He must have chosen the perfect words, because Teyla straightens, her eyes shining with laughter. They both know that John will share with Rodney. Eventually.

By the time Ronon arrives at the pond, Rodney has finished complaining about the temperature of the water, and Teyla has bathed. He pauses a moment at the water's edge, dropping the packs so the dust billows around his ankles — it's amazing that there is a pond in the midst of such a dry place, it has not rained here in more than a moon's cycle — feeling a faint twist of regret that he missed watching them strip their clothes to enter the pond. It has been such a long time since he regretted anything but an innocent's death that at first he thinks it's indigestion.

It's a relief to rinse the dust from his hair; two years ago, he wouldn't even have noticed it. They head west toward the village of Evlas; they'll reach it mid-afternoon tomorrow, and the shaman has informed them there is a waystation they may sleep in. Five minutes into the walk, Ronon can feel the first beads of sweat roll between his shoulderblades, but he ignores it and continues to watch the side of the path. He's identified three edible plants so far.

Mostly, he is watching the setting sun and the ever-changing color of the clouds. He missed having time to watch sunsets while he ran, and he's ever thankful now that he can watch them, even on a mission. John stops walking and Ronon, peering around his shoulder, laughs out loud; he isn't even startled at the sound.

Even Teyla frowns as she takes in the size of the hut and Ronon wonders if they can all fit in there comfortably. Predictably, Rodney sputters for two minutes.

They settle inside, already warm again and settle for something to drink instead of eating. It's too warm for food, even if they were hungry. Ronon lies closest to the door, of course. He's thankful there are two windows that John has propped open, but they're tiny and no one but a child could crawl through them. Of course they are not usable for escape, but Ronon's discreetly tested the walls and knows he can break through it if need be.

Surprisingly, Rodney flops down next to him, and it takes Ronon three minutes to realize that John is glaring at him. Rodney's incessant complaints are only tolerable when they are dying, it seems. Teyla sits between John and Rodney, their wall of peace that is often needed on uneventful missions.

The heat is settling around them, smothering them and Rodney begins again, until Ronon threatens to stuff a blanket in his mouth. John lifts his head where he's buried it under blankets to pipe up for a sarcastic comment, and Teyla smiles, shaking her head, then covers his mouth. Both Rodney and Ronon watch her fingers press against his lips.

They have walked side-by-side all day through unfamiliar country, and they bathed together but apart. Rodney is quiet now, knowing words could end this more quickly than a Wraith attack.

Ronon knows that expression. Normally Teyla enjoys listening to their teasing, but it is late and they can go for hours if given any encouragement. He props his head on his hand beneath him and glances at John, who doesn't move, leaving Teyla's soft fingers pressed there; his mouth doesn't move, but the smile is visible in his eyes as his pupils dilate. Ronon tentatively stretches one arm across Rodney, even though he knows he won't be turned away. Rodney catches the movement and reaches up to touch Ronon's arm, moving with him, signifying his assent to how they should spend the next hour or so before tumbling into sleep.

Teyla's hip is warm, perspiration making it slightly slick, the way Ronon prefers her skin. Tucking one fingertip into the waist of her trousers, he waits for someone to move next. Rodney caresses Ronon's forearm, the flat of his palm sliding down just as John reaches out to touch his fingertips to the back of Teyla's hand. This is her night, it seems. The last time, on Atlantis, John had invited the three of them back to his room for movie night, and they had spent most of that time teasing Rodney.

Rodney slides his hand from Ronon's forearm to Teyla's hip, up to her bare stomach, spreading his fingers wide to cover most of the exposed skin. She chuckles softly and Ronon is surprised. He didn't think her ticklish in any way. John drops his hand to twine his fingers with Rodney's.

No one has moved for several moments, they all seem to be waiting for something, so Ronon leans forward, pressing his hard cock against Rodney's side. The three of them move all together. Teyla removes her hand, shifting her body closer to kiss John, lingering over his bottom lip; Rodney opens his mouth, most likely to complain that John is always kissed first, so Ronon swoops down to prevent anything from disturbing the moment, and presses his lips over Rodney's mouth.

The way station is alone in an open field. The trees are too far away for their needle-like leaves to rattle and intrude, so the only noise Ronon hears, besides Rodney's mumbling of enjoyment (the man _never shuts up_), is John kissing Teyla. No matter who he kisses, he's noisy.

His wet kisses are louder than Rodney's moans, so Ronon knows the moment they stop. He can sense Teyla leaning back before she does, and he feels Rodney's arm tense just before he slides his hand lower. Opening his eyes, he sees the two of them work together to undo her waistband. She lifts her hips, and John and Rodney push the fabric down. Ronon wants to climb over Rodney and bury himself between her thighs. He loves sex with Teyla, but they're off-world and it's too warm for her to enjoy the three of them. Besides, he's pretty sure no one brought any protection with them. John solves that particular problem by shifting down as Rodney moves to kiss her. His chin is hairless and won't scratch her; Ronon never will understand why she'd rather kiss Rodney than John, who's so much better at it.

He pushes himself up and over Rodney and one of her legs, his hands pushing her thighs apart as soon as John's tugged her clothes off. Rodney is undoing her shirt, pushing it aside, and wraps one hand around her breast, holding it in place as John licks the nipple. Teyla arches beneath them and parts her legs more, Ronon settling between them; he sinks his lips between the folds of her skin and slides his tongue along her labia, pausing as she trembles, moving when she holds still.

All he can hear is John sucking on her breast and Rodney's murmurs of appreciation. Beside him, Rodney is rocking back and forth, a sure sign he wants what John and Ronon will give him later. Ronon reaches over and slides his hand between Rodney's bare legs — when did Rodney shed his clothes? — and touches him, his fingers thrusting in time with Teyla's movements.

There's a tug against his skin and he'd acknowledge it, but that would require removing his tongue from her in order to speak, and John knows that Ronon won't stop until Teyla screams. Just as Rodney knows they are too exposed in this hut to let her scream, so he'll keep on kissing her until she's done, swallowing most of the noise she'll make. Only then will they stop for Teyla to catch her breath, letting her slide to the far side of the bed so he and John can turn their attention to Rodney.

He can't decide between the three of them, and Ronon is glad he doesn't have to as Teyla touches his face, caressing his forehead. He gets out of the way as John leans in to kiss her again, his fingers grazing her, gathering the moisture, and then John sits back, meets Ronon's eyes. Ronon pulls his fingers out of Rodney, scrambling out of the way. A moment later, Rodney is on his back and John is kneeling between his legs, pushing inside. Teyla, beside Ronon, grasps one strand of his hair and gently twists his head around for a kiss, reaching around him to caress his cock. She's careful and slow, knowing that he wants a turn with Rodney, that John will finish before Rodney does, and Ronon will finish with Rodney. She knows even before he does, the knowledge flows from her touch and sparks in his skin.

They have had practice with each other. They have had free time to explore what they need from one another. Teyla's hand moves in time to John's moans; Ronon once overheard a marine calling John "quiet to the point of coma," and to this day, he wonders how that man survived to adulthood. There's very little that is quiet about him.

Ronon closes his eyes, finally realizing that Atlantis might be his residence, but his home is actually wherever these three are. The sex is good, the sex is always good, but it is their bodies surrounding his, afterwards, that let him plummet over the edge into slumber without qualm.

* * *

The next morning when Rodney is bitching about the hickeys and the beard burn and "thighs were not meant to be apart that long, jesus!" John splashes water at him from the stream, and even though it falls short, Rodney still shrieks like a little girl. Teyla smiles from where she's sitting on a log, putting the remnants of the MREs away, and shares a glance with Ronon, shaded with affection and wistfulness; she may be a full decade younger than John and Rodney both, and Ronon younger still, but sometimes they seem like such children to her, and she wonders what  
she would be like if she had not grown up with the shadow of the Wraith always in the corner of her eyes. She wonders if the sweetness in  
Ronon's character that appears sometimes, peering out like the first flowers of spring, would be dominant over the tension and silence that rules him now, and if she would love that man.

Ronon comes over to her and crouches, picking up a scrap of foil where it's fluttered free and laying one hand on the small of her back, warmth soaking through the fabric of her shirt. "There," she says, snapping the clip on the bag shut. "We are ready." Ronon stands and calls to Rodney and John, and all day as they travel toward the city of the Fiorelan, he walks beside her, bumping his bicep against her shoulder every few steps.

Rodney and John arguing over the coolness factor of various Doctor Whos becomes a steady hum better than the discordant birdsong from the trees; the creatures here are mutated and awful from an old battle — Rodney explained it as lasting radiation sickness, and swore up and down that the remnants of the explosions would have no effect on them. She believes him, but it does not make her any more comfortable to see such fragile things as a yvann with only three functioning legs, two more dangling uselessly.

But the pale pink light of the suns is warm on her skin, and she can smell the wood-smoke salt scent of Ronon's skin, and John convinces her to sing some old Athosian marching songs, late in the afternoon, when all of their energy is flagging. He tries to sing along after a few repetitions, but gets hopelessly tongue-twisted over the second verse. It's sweet that he tried, and Rodney doesn't complain about her voice, which she is grateful for — she is no singer, no bard. She is Teyla Emmagan, daughter of Tagan, formerly of Athos, now of Atlantis, and she is among friends who have become lovers, and is that not the same thing? She would not love them if they were not her friends.

When they get back to Atlantis, three days later, they're covered in mud and stiff from sleeping on the ground. At least everyone's skin is intact; these days, Teyla will take whatever blessings she can get. It's not until the next morning that she sees any of her team again, after the med check. They've all kept their own quarters — and not just because of the discretion that Rodney and John prize so highly. They're none of them precisely easy to live with, soothing to be around, nor able to endure the constant presence of anyone, even those they love and touch willingly and would defend with their last breath. It is good to know that there is a space which no one enters without her permission.

That night, she lights the candles in the windows for the dead as Atlantis's sun eases its way below the waves lapping the perimeter — a word she never uses without feeling the phantom weight of Aiden's gaze on her cheek — of the city. She meditates, she straightens the wall hangings, she drinks a cup of sweetened rebettes. Her radio lies by the hourglass on her bedside table, next to the digital clock she dislikes so much.

The silence inside her head is welcome after days spent with her team. She doesn't mind that her bed is still and spacious when she gets in it, at least, she doesn't mind much.

In the morning, she meets John for a training session; target practice first, and her shoulder is aching steadily when they move to the gym. He is no opponent yet, but for a man who came to the sticks so late, he is a student worth having. She enjoys it, returning to the simplicity of knowing a dozen strikes and as many blocks; it reminds her of childhood on a now-blasted planet, and it reminds her that the sticks are for more than her own virtuosity.

When they are done bouting, she lets out a small breath of pleasure at the ringing in her muscles, and sees John flick a glance at her from where he kneels, wiping sweat off his arms. She knows what he is reminded of in the sound.

He comes to her, and she grasps his forearms, warm and still damp from exertion. He leans forward, and his lips rest briefly, lightly, on her cheekbone, as delicate a touch as the scarlet center of a quoar flower, and she wonders if his kiss leaves traces, like pollen, on her skin. She turns her head, and their foreheads rest together.

"I'll see you at senior staff at ten-hundred," he says when he has slung his bag over his shoulder and thought the doors open. She nods, and lifts a hand to bid him farewell.

When she is on her way to the meeting, she pauses to crouch beside Rodney where he is wrist-deep in the wall outside a transporter. "Rodney," she says. "Are you coming?"

He sighs gustily. "Staff," he mumbles. "I'm — tell them I'm doing something that's actually, what's the word, oh yes, _important_."

"Will we die if you leave this task unfinished for the moment?" she asks.

Rodney does not look at her, but she can feel him wavering between his desire for communion with Atlantis and his devotion to the truth. "I could reassign it to Corrigan," he admits.

"Then come," she says. "Walk with me. The meeting cannot proceed without your presence." He knows what she is doing, and permits it, and she is glad.

Apparently Elizabeth runs her meetings far more efficiently than is the norm; Teyla has nothing to compare them to. The gatherings of the council on Athos were different: ceremonial, more than anything else. Negotiations and decisions took place over cups of tea and liquor, while skinning game, tucked in amongst daily survival. Here, meetings are something _to_ survive.

She is lucky to be on time for her appointment with Ronon and Amy Montgomery; they are slowly building up a companion to the Ancestors's database, a set of notes and observations from her trading journeys through the Rings and Ronon's time as a Runner. It has not been useful yet, but Teyla lives in hope. The thought that her memories, and those of her people, are preserved is comforting. So much has been lost. So many.

They bicker briefly over the landscape around the Ring on Pars; she recalls it as lush and green, but Ronon insists that the ground is made of rocks, only straggling weeds emerging between them. She has not been there since childhood, and concedes the point. Her stomach rumbles midway through discussing the weather on Elsinor. Dr. Montgomery laughs, and suggests they continue the conversation over lunch; Teyla manages to deflect that idea. Dr. Montgomery has never eaten with Ronon. She implies, although never says outright, that the Colonel is expecting them for a "team bonding" session, and she and Ronon go hide on the balcony over the laundry room. It is always warm there, and they stretch out and watch the clouds scud overhead and drink the sweet-sour concoction the kitchen calls "lemonade," although Rodney explained that it isn't lemonade by definition, he can drink it, it's something that apparently is manufactured in a place called "New Jersey" and is entirely artificial chemicals. They do not speak.

* * *

Ronon doesn't have to thank her for avoiding lunch with the Doctor. She already knows. Even if they haven't known each other since youth, even if they grew up worlds apart, Ronon and Teyla have a bone-deep understanding of each other. When he's frustrated about his lack of understanding concerning the Lanteans, so is she. It's conveyed with a smile, or on rare occasion, a trip to the gym. It's rarely about words.

John once described a jigsaw puzzle to him, how a perfect picture is glued to cardboard, cut up and tossed about. When Ronon asked what the purpose of it was, John told him to put it back together. John said that they, the four of them, were that puzzle.

Ronon told him the four of them didn't fit that way and John laughed, Rodney scoffed, and Teyla smiled. She understood what Ronon didn't explain. They cannot interlock around each other until there is nothing between them. Their pasts will always provide cracks between the pieces.

Ronon thinks it could be better described as two separate pictures that complement each other the same way John and Rodney and Ronon and Teyla do. They, from the Pegasus galaxy, grew up as people who lived their whole lives in fear from the Wraith. The ones from the Milky Way are mostly people who have never known such encompassing fear.

Now, they are not from Earth or Sateda. Instead, as they drink the artificial liquid that tastes nothing like lemons, Ronon realizes they are Lanteans, and while they are not one perfect picture _yet_, there is hope they may be some day. Because the four of them have a common goal amongst each other, amongst all Lanteans, and that is to have a world — a universe — not poisoned by the Wraith.


End file.
